


i heard that zahhak has an 8 pack (that he was shredded)

by oncewewerezombies



Series: a professional fornicator [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, BDSM, Belts, Bro is a pornstar and comfortable with that, Bulges and Nooks, Casual Sex, Choking, Dominance, M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Shibari, Size Difference, Slurs, Spanking, Submission, Verbal Humiliation, Xeno, human/troll AU, quadrant? what quadrant?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 19:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Watching a nice ass saunter past at a sex club, Bro reconsiders his stance on fucking trolls.You know. Maybe just the one troll.





	i heard that zahhak has an 8 pack (that he was shredded)

You are gonna be the last guy to say that you are not into some weird shit. You are into supremely weird shit, the weirdest, about the only shit you won't touch is what is _literally_ illegal. You make a bona fide living out of being into weird shit, you've got the market on plush puppet rump locked the fuck down. You don't think about what you did in Brazil in the 90s, that shit was whack. Even for you. Anyway, you're not gonna head down that winding road of regret now. You've got bigger, brighter things in your future.

Puppets. That's where your shit is at. You are all about the felt life now.

Every so often though, you get the thought that touching skin to skin with another consenting adult in a freaky kind of way is something you should indulge in. You shower, walk through a light misting of Axe (Instinct) body spray, work your hair into something approximating style before jamming your signature baseball cap down over it and ensure that your white polo shirts are as stunning white as you can make them. You know it's not what the cool kids wear now, but you don't follow on trend because you are just not that kind of cool. You _transcend_ such limited observations. Besides, you've got a lingering suspicion if you turned hipster and let your beard and hair grow out, you'd look like Van Hohenheim. Better not to mess with a tried and true formula. You get plenty of ass just the way you are - and what's more, they know they're lucky to have you.

There's a place you like to hit up; apparently since the last time you were there, they've started letting trolls in. You're not up on your current events because all it is, is motherfucking depressing and you'd care too much if you didn't feel such a sense of apathy to the whole thing, but chatting with the bartender lets you know that some kinda cooperative legislation got passed. Means there's grey skin among the warmer hues of humankind, that obsidian black that glints back light showing up every so often in the crowd. You're only sipping on sweet tea made to look like bourbon on ice, you don't plan on getting fucked up if you're out here to play. Some rules you don't see the point of but this one you do, and you have been here often enough that they know you, they're willing to let some of your weirder shit slide. You don't want to go through the _effort_ of breaking a new place in again. 

It's not like you're some kind of Humans First and Last asshole, for all you know you've got troll customers buying up smuppets and watching you beat your meat for the camera. And it wouldn't bother you, even if you knew for sure. Their money still spends the same, it's all green to you. You've got some vague idea about what happened back in the 40s when the first ship touched down in Oklahoma, but that was just history. You're aware of how badly humanity can treat refugees and interstellar refugees hadn't been treated any better. Probably worse, all things considered. It had taken some time for 'Alternian' to equal the same thing legally as 'human', even while the governments of the world were strip-mining them for all the freaky deeky alien tech they could grab. Things are mostly settled down, the species rights riots of the 60s, the 70s and again in the 80s are done, you think - you're not entirely sure - there's definitely a troll 'hood in Houston, that you've never been into because it's got nothing you need. 

You turn on your chair as a looming presence passes you like a ship in the night and rewind that last mental statement you just made to yourself. 

You kinda feel like you should reconsider your stance about taking a stroll in Trolltown and your thought that it has nothing that you need, because god FUCKING damn. You just watched Troll Adonis stalk his way past your chair. He's got a black handkerchief in the back pocket of those outstandingly tight leather-look pants he's got on (you know leather, ok, that ain't bona fide cowhide, that's _p_ leather - but very high quality all the same) on the side that most appeals to you and his ostentatiously long ponytail of silky black hair looks like it was designed to be wrapped around your fingers. You can't help yourself; you get up, you follow him, you buy him a drink. He wants a glass of milk. Just chilled milk, frosty and pale. This is exactly the kind of weird that appeals to you the most, wrapped in an outstandingly pretty (dangerous) package. You don't know what the deep blue of his sign means, all neatly picked out on the shoulder of his shirt, or what his arrow shaped horns could signify. You don't care. You don't just want to fuck him. You want to fuck him over. All the way fucking up.

Whatever line you lay down, he likes it enough that he picks it up and you both rendezvous in the back of the club in the private rooms. He wants you to do just what you want to do, and you want to _fuck him up_. He tells you he's very strong, that he can take a lot of pain. That what he wants, is agony. You let the corner of your lip curl in what's basically a loud laugh for you, and tell him you'll do your best with what you've got available. If he wants better, he's going to have to get down with you somewhere they don't put a harness on your skillz to bring it from go back to whoa. 

"...so let's just consider this almost a dry run."

"That sounds agreeable. I'm intrigued by your human practices of...quadrant vacillation and sensual punishment." His voice almost hesitates on the word 'sensual', like he's tasting it and he _likes_ the way it lingers on his tongue. Got a little clicky quality to his voice on the hard consonants, but he speaks English better than some people who grew up with it as a first language, yourself included. You give him a hard grin that shows off your canines, and stretch the rope you've got out between your hands with a decisive (but muted) snap. He looks so terribly, sternly interested but like he knows he shouldn't be, and fuck you sideways with a chainsaw, but you can work with that.

"I'm all about that sensual punishment if that's what you're into, babe." You take a firmer stance, and tilt your head to look up, much as you hate it. He's bigger than you, something you're not used to. Let's face it, six foot four is pretty big in terms of human standards. You're a one hundred per cent red blooded American male, at the peak of your prime and he looks like he could break you if he flexed. And he wants you to make him kneel. It's definitely making your libido pay some fucking attention. You don't think you've been this hard since the time you unpacked that woven alpaca wool felt for a special commission. "Take your clothes off, and put your hands behind your back."

You're pretty sure he'd look even better on his knees, so once he's undressed and carefully folded the clothes he was wearing on top of the chest of drawers in the room, you get your hand on his shoulder and push down. He folds under your silent direction, but you can feel the strength in him. If he wanted to make an issue of it, you couldn't push him around for _shit_. The fact that he's letting you is making your voice go gravelly and usually you wouldn't want to make it so obvious that you're deep into the dude you're fucking (no homo, bruh) but his nostrils flare, and you don't think you could hide it if you tried. For a beginner's run into xenokink, you're pretty sure you hit the black diamond on your first time.

After making sure his horns are strong enough to be used as an anchor point - and let's face it, they're practically begging for it, such fucking sturdy looking arrows - you tie him up in a network of knots and smooth black rope. Outlining his chest in diamonds, rope around his throat and attached to his horns to make him pull his head back or choke, exposing his throat to you. Running over his hips and down between his thighs in matching loops to outline his - boneshield, bulgesheath, whatever - and keeping his hands tied behind his back. Out of the way.

He looks so pretty tied like that you ache for a camera in your hands, a video recorder running so you can have the memory of you taking this mountain apart stone by stone but you're not gonna bring that up now. Maybe another time (you're already thinking about what else you could do to him, of getting him in _your_ space and shredding him to pieces under umbrella lighting and some good hard streaming). You're a man of simple desires, and right now, you're getting a lot of them filled. 

You're also not what you'd call a patient man, and you're especially not a patient man when you have an erection that you could use to pound a fucking nail with. All the pounding you're thinking of doing is into that neat little slit between his thighs that you've taped a bullet vibe to. One there, one to the base of his sheath and he's already shuddering and sweating at your feet letting out these little groaning gasps that sound more like steel being rasped over a whetstone than a sound of lust. You're pretty sure by the growing blue puddle that he's enjoying himself though. 

"So tell me how that feels?" you murmur and yank at his horn to lean his head further back, really make that elegantly sturdy neck stretch. You wanna get your hands around it, and in your negotiations he'd definitely delicately hinted that he'd be down for that. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have tied the rope around his throat; you're a good top, you know boundaries (sometimes). He shudders, and squirms a bit at your feet, his knees wide apart and something blue and La Blue Girl looking squirming its way out of the protective layer of plate-like sheathing in his vague groin area. Wrapping your gloved palm around your dick, you slowly stroke, just touching yourself to keep things going nicely. 

"How it...hhhk...feels?"

He sounds dazed but you're not letting him off that easy. You step forward a little bit, so you can lay your dick on his face, along the line of that long and noble looking slope of a nose, and just kinda jerk yourself off. Precum dribbling down into his hairline. Dick on his face, balls on his mouth as he pants cool breath over your sweating skin. God, that's a fucking good look for him.

"Yeah, babe. How does it _feel_ for you? You like those lil vibes on that slutty nook?" you murmur softly, voice dark and hoarse. You're so fucking turned on right now and the way he shudders all the way down his spine, fists tightening and muscles flexing in the constraints of bondage - he likes it too. Good. Looks like you're both getting what you want right now.

"I - hhhk - _yes_ ," he agrees vervrently, and you wrap your hand around his ponytail and pull hard. He makes another broken sound and you've barely touched him. You think he's getting exactly out of what he wanted by coming down and consorting with the native apes. His hips hitch and you're pretty sure he wants to grind up against something. You sacrifice your spats to the cause, and press the smooth toe of your Vans against the dripping slit of his nook and let the man use his alien mangina to tiedye one of your footwear deep navy blue. "It feels - ngh!"

You jam your foot right up in there, rocking it back and forth and he tries to curl forward. Chokes himself on the ropes, and you wrench his ponytail around so you get his eyes back where they belong. On you. He moans, and you know what a bottom looks like as they go through the steps to subspace. He might be an alien, but it looks like some things are still the same.

"Alright, let's move this along." You've got your dick hanging out your pants and you take a moment to slap him with it on one cheek, and then the other. His mouth gapes, and it's kinda tempting to feed it in there. If he was human, you would have but those chompers don't look dick friendly. You paint his lips with the tip of your cock and he shudders a sigh out. "Lick. Let me feel your tongue."

He obediently opens his mouth wider and a black tongue comes out and wraps around the tip, lapping at the head and running around the smooth rosy-pink flush of your glans. It's got a vaguely raspy feel, that makes you shudder but it ain't so rough you're gonna tell him to stop. You wonder if he'll let you set him up with another dude; you'd like to see him working that thick tongue around an uncut cock. And it's only right that he should experience as much as he can about the human race, right? It's cool, not warm, and the cognitive dissonance throws you for a fucking second before you roll your hips. Just a little. Not quite fucking that beartrap of a mouth - but tempting both of you like you might. 

A little more dirty talk and grinding your hard dick on his handsome face, warming the two of you up before you pull him from his knees stumbling to his feet and get him to bend down over the bed. You undo the ropes on his horns; you're not a monster. You don't actually want him to die by boning. Gives you a real nice view of his ass, this pose. Real fucking _nice_. Getting your hands on it, you spread him and pull the vibes off his nook so you can stick your face in it. It comes as a second-hand thought that maybe you should have grabbed a dental dam, but by that point you're already tongue-deep in that cool slit and he sounds like a hot summer night full of cicadas. Just straight on buzzing like a cricket chorus born in hell. It's a noise that just gets louder when you add one finger, than another, seeing what kind of depth and tenseness you have to work with.

Tastes different to pussy. Kinda sharper, more acidic, not as sour. Not a bad taste, definitely different. Pulling back, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as he basically keens into the sheets and you manage to get to your feet. This time, you pull your jeans all the way off, pants, shirt and sneakers in a jumble out of the way where you won't trip over them, just letting this mass of muscle tremble and shake on the bed with his ass presented like a god damn Christmas present. The best kind of fucking gift that you really enjoy giving to yourself.

Which is why you grab a paddle and redden that shit right up. Well, it's more like a blue and you really have to fucking hit hard to get even a hint of a bruise on that obsidian skin. He groans and gasps, but he doesn't say no and he doesn't say stop. You give your arm a hell of a work out, and finally stop so you can trail your fingers over his ass. It's something more like room temp than cool now.

"You want more, or that's enough?" you ask, testing this out. You don't want to tell a guy he's had enough, unless you think you really need to. And he did say go hard - maybe not in so many words but you definitely think he'd thought a human would be working hard to get him to hurt. There's a gasping moment, before he groans out just one word.

" _More_."

Well, you can give a man what he wants, that's for fucking sure. You grin and slip your belt out of your jeans, a nice thick piece of leather with a decorative longhorn skull buckle (Texas boy got ironic Texas pride). Loop it around your hand, get it settled and then you add to the bruises you're already raising on his ass and go down onto those muscular thighs as well. He's pretty thicc, you haven't paid a lot of attention to trolls and you've never really seen one naked but yeah, fuck. You could fuck those thighs and enjoy it, but you think what you really want to do is get your dick inside that dripping nook. From your preparatory explorations, you're pretty sure it'll fit. And if it hurts a bit...you think he'll like that. But you got the feeling he was made to take bigger things than you, and you've got a perfectly porn worthy nine inches of hot throbbing meat baton to your name. It'd be discouraging if you gave a shit about things like that.

Once you've laid the belt across his skin from his knees to his tailbone (there's like, a little rounded blue bump of chitin or something there, kinda cute, you've got no idea what the fuck it is), he's almost cursing with every breath. But somehow he finds the room to lift his ass and spread his knees apart so he can motherfucking present to you like some slutty twink in a German kink porn. You got to admit, it's pretty fucking inviting. You give his ass another slap, and reach down between his thighs to get your hand around his bulge.

"You want something, sweetheart?" you murmur like you don't know exactly what he wants, feeling the absolutely enthralling texture and slickness of his bulge. That's gonna feel real good in your ass, you're calling it now. It's wrapping around your hand and squeezing like a friendly octopus (you imagine, you've never met an octopus), with a surprising amount of strength and resistance for something that feels like it's made out of jello. His body almost shakes and he tries to roll his hips down to your hand, jerkily moving in the restraints as the muscles in his forearms and back tense visibly. Boy, how'd you score such a bara mountain of alien deliciousness, basically begging for you to take him to pieces once you got him warmed up? You've done something to appease the hook up gods at some point, that's obvious. 

"Yesssss," he hisses out and shoves his ass back in your direction demandingly. You pull your hand away from hs bulge and stroke your cock, using that slick nonsense he's got dripping and staining the sheets as lube. Hopefully, your dick isn't still going to look like you fucked a smurf a few days from now. You think it'd be rude to ask if his sexjuices are going to stain your love thermometer. And your hand, god damn. 

"You gotta tell me what you want, or I won't give it to you. And ask politely, I got a feeling a whore like you knows how to ask for what they want real nice," you purr, and he makes a noise like an angry rusted garden gate, then a whole bunch of clicking nonsense. You're pretty sure he's swearing at you and you give it a minute to let him get it out of your system, then slap him right on the nook. His whole body _jolts_ forward, and he makes this _sound_ , thighs shaking and tensing so hard that you're pretty sure he just staved off an orgasm by force of will. Which is pretty impressive. You doodle your fingers gently over his slit while he pants and gasps, just fingering him gently, barely going in even to the first knuckle. "Well?"

More angry cricket noises, and then a very low, almost growled, " _Please_." You make an encouraging noise because that's on the right track at least, and push three fingers into the cool clutching grasp of his nook. Boy, he is sweating up a storm right now. The only word for what's happening here is _moist_. Both his nook and those beautifully wrong but obviously ripped muscles. "Please, I want - hhhkkk - _sir_ ," he groans and you bite your lip hard, keeping yourself quiet. Sir, huh? Well, you can't say you don't like that. 

"Come on, you know what you want, just gotta spit it out," you coax and rub your fingers gently back and forth in his nook, eyelashes almost feeling heavy as you fingerfuck him over the bed. You don't want to call the noise he makes a whine, but it's a close relation. Close enough for an Alabama marriage, anyway. You get more infernal cicada sounds as he tries to fuck himself on your fingers with a weird rotating grind to his hips, face shoved down into the sheets as he moans but then he finally manages to get some words out.

"Your - hrrkkkkrk - bulge, put it in me," he grinds outs, and gasps sharply as you pull your fingers away. Eyeing the blue slick dripping down your fingers, you lick them and wait. It's no crème brûlée, but this kind of shit never is. It's not like you don't think you could get to like it anyway. "I - you - for _goodness' sake!_ Please!"

"Just for future reference, it's a dick, baby," you murmur, rubbing the head up against the shallow groove marking the outside of his cool little pussy and push right in. He throws his head back and makes a gasping sound as you sheathe yourself, ballsdeep inside. Oh wow, your cock ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto. There's this weird feel on the inside, some sorta suction, stuff moving - makes you want to fuck the hell outta him. So you do.

Grab his hair and pull his head back so he can't bury his face in the sheets, forgetting for a moment how strong he is as his nook clamps down around you like the best kind of blowjob that you've never had in your life. And you've fucked a lot of pornstars who were actually good at more than just being able to moan in a dead voice and starfish all over the mattress. Some real pros. You wonder what it's gonna take for him to agree to you fucking him in the ass.

Guess you'll just have to show him how much he'll like it.

Right now, you just try to put everything into each thrust you've got, pounding your cock forward into that new slick cool piece of heaven you hadn't known was even a thing before tonight. He warbles and groans, the sound of snarls rocking through to your bones in a subwoofer bass rumble as you fuck him. Fingers trying to grab and grasp, knots of muscles showing up in his back, his arms as he takes the way you fuck him like he could have been born to it. You don't think a rigid human penis is exactly what a nook is meant to take, going by the soft squidgy nature of his bulge that you'd fondled, but he seems to like it all the same. Anyway, he is taking it like a fucking _champ_ , that's all you're saying.

The breath in your throat catches dry and harsh, and you push yourself, curling his hair even tighter around your fingers and then shift your grip so you can get both hands around his throat. This is a dangerous game you're playing with him here. You know how to choke a human; you're not one hundred per cent you know how to choke a troll. Still. He'd asked for it. He _wanted_ it. You're fixing to give him just what he was wanting. You want to fuck him again (and again, and again) (you're a greedy bastard and you know it).

Jamming your hips forward, you shudder and cum in him, letting out a few little grunts as you finish. Hands locked around his throat as he makes a choked clicking sound and then suddenly it's like fucking Niagara Falls all over your fucking crotch. There's just so much _fucking_ blue, every _fucking_ where. You hope the club is ready for this. They should be, if they take trolls as customers, you think dimly to yourself as you manage to unlock your fingers from around his throat and pull back a bit to sit on your heels. Fuck.

You haven't had a fuck like that for a good long while.

God _damn_ , son.

In a while, you chivvy him out of the wet spot (the fucking _swamp_ ) on the bed and to one side, untie all the knots and ropes and go to find something to clean you both up with. Some damp towels take care of him, and you're understatedly relieved to see the blue coming off your skin when you wash your hands in the sink. You ignore the minibar prices and grab a bottle of Haterade (blue, of course, gotta keep in theme) from the fridge, getting water for yourself. He takes the bottle, still rubbing distractedly at his bruised throat before sipping slowly.

"Get what you wanted?" you ask casually, like you didn't just rock his fucking world and the two of you both know it. You just like hearing people fucking admit it. You sit on the bed near his legs, and still out of the god damn lake of a wet spot. Fuck, he's nice and cool though. You don't usually cuddle with your hook ups, but you're a little fucking tempted. He's a damn heatsink and you're sweaty as shit. In the end, you move close enough that you're both thigh to thigh, sipping from your bottles and re-hydrating. He considers what you've said, rolls his head around his neck and nods slowly.

"Yes. I think so."

"You think so?" you echo, eyebrow lifting in question. You just made him blast a bucket all over the fucking bed, and he _thinks_ he got what he wanted. "So I'll keep my number to myself then."

"Ah-" He sounds caught off-guard, and then he relaxes further into you. It's kind of like being smothered by a Saint Bernard, you decide. If a Saint Bernard was cold, humanoid and astoundingly sexy. "No - that is -" You caught him way off fucking balance with that, and you keep the smirk to yourself. "...I would like your number."

"Good shit, bro. Remind me to give you my digits after a shower."

"...besides, I want to see what you would be like with fewer...restraints on your activities. It should be quite an elucidating experience."

You almost laugh at that, and have another sip of water. Dude sounds like a Regency novel, but he'd come apart in your hands like a bodice-ripper heroine. Do you want to hit this again? Stupid fucking question.

Post-shower for both of you - not sharing, the amount of sheer bulk that made up his body made that an impossible dream - you exchange numbers and emails. You haven't expanded your repertoire like this in a long fucking while. It's...interesting. But you could use a regular fuckbuddy with a body like that, yes sir. He leaves first, and you jam your hat back on your head, check your shades and nod a bit at your reflection in the mirror before walking out to pass through the sweat and funk of the club, then out again to the cooler night air so you can have a cigarette before getting in your truck to drive home.

You think you're gonna invest in a tarp for your mattress. 

Hey. Just seems like a good idea.


End file.
